So, I haven't posted anything in forever, and I don't know why. I haven't written anything really coherent in a while, but I wanted to post some random thoughts I've had. I want to remember all of these later. (This summer my therapist wants me to write my autobiography, so I want to include them.) You guys don't have to read this, I just want to write it. Also, I don't think it's triggering, but as always, there is a chance, so please read with caution.

You say "I wanted this. I deserve this. I asked for this." Because the alternative, that you had no power, no control, no say, is far more frightening than that it might have been your fault.

I don't like nighttime, because I don't want to sleep. No, that's not entirely true. I don't mind sleeping. It's the long minutes of lying there before I fall asleep. I don't want to have time to think. I don't even know what I'm so scared of, I just don't want to think. I stay up to ridiculous hours, reading, forcing myself to focus on the story, and not to think. I feel like I'm holding myself together by threads, and if I stop moving, reading, eating, for too long, the threads will tighten until they snap. I don't know what's going on at all. I have no reason to be this freaked out. I don't even know that I'm actually freaked out. I don't know what I am. I hide in my reading, but when I poke my head out long enough to think, I start thinking about me, and I don't want to. I don't know why, I just don't want to. I want to cry, not all the time, not during the day, just at night. I don't know why night, just that I don't like it. It isn't the being alone, because I'm fine when I"m alone during the day. Something about night just sets me off.

There are words that adults know, that children don't. Words replaced in a child's mind with pictures and vague ideas. As the years pass, the child grows, the words themselves fade, and so do the pictures. But the idea of the pictures, the remnants left behind, those are still there, still real. Still terrifying. And they'll be around, far longer than mere words ever could.

And then, when that happened, something pure and good inside of me cracked, twisted, and broke. I was left to live a life, or something like resembling a life, without the internal strength to live it well. Instead, my cracked, twisted, broken self had to fake a life. And it did so badly.

It's not the dark that scares me, it's the shadows. It's always been the shadows. Things hide there, and blend, and you can't see them. Can't see them, that is, until they leap out at you. Leap out inside or outside your head, and reach out with teeth, and claws, and hands, to destroy.

I can feel the threads connecting me to my body snapping. I start drifting away, but then I breathe, and I'm back.

I'm the worst thing that ever happened to me.

These are just a few thoughts I've had. It's been a rough time. I hate spring. But it looks like I'm going to make it. Eleven years is the charm? Ha. And it's been a rough spring too. Try explaining to someone that you haven't had a good night's sleep since February. That always goes over well. Okay, enough with the bad news. Good news: I'm in love. And that is even better news than it seems. I thought I couldn't love, thought it was impossible. I thought I wasn't capable of emotion. Turns out I am. And she's worth it completely. More than. I won't drag you through the mushy, lovey-dovey stuff, but I assure you, I have plenty. I want to go on forever, but I will spare you that. Just know that the sad stuff here isn't equal to some of the happy stuff I've had the last few weeks. Well what do you know. Happiness in spring. I didn't know that was possible. I leave you with a final thought:

Every day a new death, every day a new life.